Overfalls
by knoxedfiction
Summary: 4x13 (Alone) – missing scene/ alternative scene. Daryl's POV, Oneshot.


Title: Overfalls

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Pairing: Beth/ Daryl

Rating: Pg-13

Summary: One shot, 1500 words. Daryl's POV.

_That's the thing of it, though. The thing that's changed the most. How people look at me. They actually look. And now that they're watching, I'm a one-man band with no instruments and no spotlight. They look and they wait, but they still can't see. _

Timeline: 4x13 (Alone) – missing scene/ alternative scene

I know it's stupid before the thought even enters my brain. Stupid to think about anything but surviving, stupid to think about her, and stupid to think it would ever be me. In a million lifetimes, walkers or not, it's stupid every way you slice it.

Maybe she's her own brand of moonshine. The kind that makes you think about the other version of the world where the light in her eyes would never fade. Where she would have put on a light pink prom dress and made someone lucky to be on her arm. Where her father would walk her down the aisle.

A world where she wouldn't have looked at me long enough to know I was there at all.

That's the thing of it, though. The thing that's changed the most. How people look at me. They actually look. And now that they're watching, I'm a one-man band with no instruments and no spotlight. They look and they wait, but they still can't see.

Each stage-fright breath is another line I couldn't say, another verse I can't sing. And in the next scene I'm playing never-have-I-ever with a lighthouse who wasn't even born the first time I had a drink in my hand.

The other world would have been kind to her. She's the kind of beautiful people stop and stare at. Even under a layer of dirt and blood. I don't want to notice. I don't want to notice anything.

And here I am. Through the odds, and still without a spotlight; she is looking at me.

When she stands too close, when she reaches for me; it meant something so different for so long. It hurt. And now, even though her outreached arm contains no belt, no selfish motive, it still hurts. Maybe worse, because pain fades and dreams don't.

They lie to you and tell you things you want to hear, show you what you want to see and there is no fade. No scar. Because it never stops existing as bright and as instant as the moment it begins.

"What are you thinking about?" Her voice calls out from the darkness and I'm at the kitchen table, staring at a jar of peanut butter.

I grab the jar and glance up at her face.

"Thinkin' about what lame party game you'll have me playing today."

Her smile is weak. "No you weren't." She moves towards the cupboard and puts her jar away. "I think sometimes too, you know."

I stare at the jar until I could draw it from memory.

I don't look up as she sits down. "Did you want me to pick a new game?" She tries again.

I short laugh escapes me. "No, not really."

"We could play two truths and a lie."

"No." She scoffs at my dismissal and shuffles her chair.

"I could go first." Her offer hangs in the silent kitchen like a plea.

"It ain't the problem who goes first."

"Do you have a better idea?"

"You didn't get all you needed the last time?" I chance a look at her face. She stays silent for a moment, and then a small sigh disappears in to the kitchen air.

I can still feel the light touch of her arms wrapping around me. Her face pressed against my back. From the corner of my eye I can see her lips twisted in nerves, her hair catching the light, and her eyes on her restless fingers.

I don't want to think about it, but I do think about it. I think about what it might be like to feel her skin against my lips. To hold her. It's so foolish I would laugh if it wasn't so damn sad.

Her eyes are like magnets. I notice the way she always looks back to see how close behind her I am when we're walking. I look for the flash of relief that crosses her face before she acts like it wouldn't have mattered.

"Do you think I might be able to catch some sleep before we take off again?" Her eyes look more tired than I had realized.

I nod. She stands and heads out of the kitchen. I rise from my seat and follow her as she walks towards the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"I think I need a real bed, if it's all the same to you." I pause at the foot of the staircase, watching her slight form walk ahead and turn on the landing.

We don't know this place. We need to take off before whoever neatly lined those cupboards comes back and decides how pissed they are. I swear to nothing, and grab my bow from the kitchen.

I take the stairs two at a time and turn to the first bedroom I see. She's got herself under the comforter, already half-asleep by the looks of things.

I hover around the doorframe, listening. Looking. Her eyes flutter open, my name on her lips.

"I'm keeping watch." I brace myself against the frame before she can say another word.

"If you come here you'll be able to see out the window." She rolls over and motions to a large window, sheer curtains and dull sunlight streaming through. I walk over and stare out at the driveway below. Fine, we'll do it her way.

I sit on the edge of the bed and face the window. I can feel her movement and I grip my bow.

She shifts and turns, after a few minutes I can't ignore it.

"You've got a problem?"

"I just can't get comfortable." As she fidgets, I lay my bow on the side table and turn to her. She is face down, pressing and stretching the pillow at her head. I wait until I realize I have nothing to wait for.

"Yeah, I've got a fix for that." I can't see her face, and maybe that's why I don't hesitate. I lightly run my hand down her back. She tenses for the briefest second and I pause. She doesn't protest, so I continue. I move my hand over her shoulders and she sighs into the pillow. As I move down her spine her body relaxes into mattress. Every touch, her body responds to. It is the most alive thing I have seen in longer than I care to remember. When a small noise escapes her mouth I can feel it in knees, and I just about pull away.

I can feel her heartbeat through the back of her ribs, so strong and so fast. I don't want to think it's for me. But I think it, nonetheless.

I can see in my mind, how simple it would be to slide my hand beneath her shirt. To feel her tense and submit to my fingertips upon her.

I would move above her, lift her shirt off and away to feel her spine against my mouth and to breathe in her scent. No doubt she'd never been touched that way, and maybe she's be more nervous than anything else, but I'd wait. I'd wait until her back arches, twisting around underneath me to look into the eyes of the person responsible for making her feel this way.

And with her bright eyes scanning my face, I'd be too terrified to breathe, let alone move. And she would push off the bed, her lips brushing so light against mine to tell me that it's okay.

I don't know how much more permission I'd need than that. I'd hold her head, my thumb across her cheek, before pressing my lips decidedly against hers. Her hands shaking, she would pull me into her and her hips would meet mine in a quiet explosion. I would barely hear her gasp over the sound of blood rushing through my ears.

She would cling against me hard enough that she wouldn't notice I was clinging back like she was the side of a lifeboat. Her nervous mouth against mine wouldn't be able to tell that I am the one who is clumsy. Her hands would grip me close to her, and I would let them. My body would crash against hers until she would press away from me, a breathless '-wait,' on her lips and her hips in my hands.

Every inch of me would burn for her, but I would still my hands, my forehead against hers. She would mumble some kind of apology and I would catch 'it's my first time,' in between my racing heartbeats. She would have no idea that she's claimed more than a few firsts from me too.

A small cough shot me straight back to reality.

Back in the sunshine soaked bedroom, there was no noise except for her soft breathing. My hand resting on the small of her back, rising with every breath. Body aching, I run my hands through my hair. The loss of contact leaves me cold.

There is no convenient time to lose yourself completely to the unrelenting madness of dreams, but this seems as good a time as any.


End file.
